


Stupid Decisions (The Kink in Vernon Roche's Armour)

by Drakyr



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Blow Jobs, Choking, Funny, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Negotiations, One Shot, Oral Sex, Rival Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:47:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28420095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drakyr/pseuds/Drakyr
Summary: Iorveth takes a calculated risk in abducting Vernon Roche - but man, is he bad at math...actually it works out okay for him in the end, and not just because Roche sucks his dick. But mostly because Roche sucks his dick.In which sex is used for negotiating and Roche's dick betrays him. Merry Belated Christmas, ThirstyForRed, from your Witcher Secret Santa!
Relationships: Iorveth/Vernon Roche
Comments: 4
Kudos: 45
Collections: The Witcher Secret Santa 2020





	Stupid Decisions (The Kink in Vernon Roche's Armour)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ThirstyForRed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThirstyForRed/gifts).



> Hello! And if you're ThirstyForRed, surprise! Thanks for giving me the motivation to finally play and finish The Witcher 2 so I could get a better idea of writing Iorveth and Roche. This is my first time writing them and I've put my best into it, so I hope it's to your liking. :D Admittedly I'm #TeamIorveth and it probably shows, but Roche gets his time to shine, too.
> 
> This is meant to take place between The Witcher 2 and The Witcher 3.
> 
> I want to give a big thanks to my husband for being my beta reader - he's read everything I've ever posted and more with honest, constructive criticism. Here's to you, darling. <3

Iorveth looked down along his sword at Roche. The human’s sword had been knocked aside, and lay at the base of a tree out of reach.

“Tut tut,” the elf jeered. “I defeated you once. Did you think I couldn’t do it again?”

Roche bared his teeth. “Get on with it. Let me die with honour.”

A moment passed as Iorveth lazily cocked his head to the side. “Where would be the fun in that?”

“It’s to be torture, then? Do your worst, wretch.”

Iorveth shook his head. Roche blinked.

“Then _what_? Don’t make me wait.”

Without breaking eye contact, Iorveth whistled in a perfect imitation of a local bird. Several Scoia’tael agents emerged from the underbrush and trees. A breath caught in Roche’s throat; he hadn’t noticed them at all. What would’ve happened if he’d gained the upper hand instead of Iorveth? A question he would have to put aside to ponder later, as the Scoia’tael agents stepped in, Iorveth standing aside and sheathing his sword. The Scoia’tael agents bound Roche’s hands behind his back and pulled him to his feet. One of the agents put a cloth sack over Roche’s head. Despite his best efforts, the winding route the Scoia’tael took through the forest disoriented him.

~*~

Roche had been seated somewhere in what he assumed was Iorveth’s Scoia’tael camp for some time, still with the cloth sack over his head. There was movement outside of the hut he was being kept in, but none of it seemed to involve him. His bound hands had been further held in place against a post in the middle of the hut. Disarmed and stripped to his breeches and plain tunic, the Blue Stripes commander could only wait.

Iorveth came to visit him eventually. It was just as Roche noticed the evening chill, and the first calls of crickets. The elf pulled Roche’s cloth mask off with his own hands, then walked around and undid Roche’s bonds. There were two bowls of soup with chunks of meat and vegetables set before him. There were no spoons.

Iorveth began speaking as he knelt down with the soup bowls between them. “Just to be clear, if you try anything, you won’t succeed, and you won’t get far.”

Roche held up one bowl of soup and motioned to the lack of spoon. “I see you’re not taking chances, though. You think I’m going to slit your throat with a spoon?”

“A spoon is more than enough to take out an eye, and I’ve not got any to spare.” Iorveth remarked dryly. “I didn’t survive this long by making stupid decisions, dh’oine. Having you here is more of a risk than I’ve taken in some time.”

“Then why do it?” asked Roche, his eyes narrowed.

“Would you believe me if I said I wanted to talk?”

“Not in the slightest.”

Iorveth scoffed with amusement. “Of course. You didn’t survive this long by making stupid decisions, either.” He leaned in just so. “Don’t get me wrong: I don’t hate you any less now. Nothing would make me happier than to spill your blood, send your head to the remains of the Blue Stripes, and leave your corpse to rot to feed the forest.”

Roche didn’t flinch, though the tension in his shoulders spoke of discomfort.

Iorveth leaned back. “But I don’t intend to make a martyr of you. And really, you’re even more a member of a rare and dying breed now, aren’t you? What with Temeria’s forces being broken. Maybe you’ve some inkling idea of what we go through, now. Pushed to the edges of society, fighting impossible odds, all in the name of the remnants of your heritage.”

Roche opened hi s mouth to protest; a few irritated sounds came out, but no actual words.

Iorveth smirked, then jerked his chin in the direction of Roche’s soup. “Eat.”

Roche snapped back and looked at his soup, nearly having forgotten that he was holding it in the first place. Shrugging, he drank, and heard Iorveth doing the same. They put their bowls down almost simultaneously as well; a moment of silence passed between them.

“Now you and the Blue Stripes are waging guerilla warfare with Nilfgaard,” Iorveth continued. “So my sources tell me.”

“I imagine it doesn’t make much difference to you.”

The elf shrugged. “Not too much. Dh’oine que dh’oine – humans are humans. Non-humans apparently fare better in Nilfgaard, but the empire makes a point of assimilating the cultures of the conquered. And they practice slavery. It’s all human arrogance. Which brings me back to you, Vernon Roche.”

Roche’s eyes narrowed, curious as much as wary. “What about me?”

“Despite the odds you face against Nilfgaard, some of your men attacked mine.”

“ _Your_ men were caught sneaking through our turf.”

“ _Through_. _Through_ your turf,” Iorveth sneered, nearly growled. “Despite our little rivalry, the Blue Stripes aren’t currently a priority. _Nothing personal_.” He added the last comment with a mock smile, which quickly turned back to sneering. “I lost good warriors, and you wasted resources.”

“They took two of my own men with them,” added Roche.

“Ah. Well, like I said, good warriors.” Iorveth leaned in, glaring at Roche over their half-finished food. “Listen, bl’oede dh’oine, no doubt you and I will have it out to the death one day. But we’re both smart enough to know that our forces have worse things to deal with. What’s that human idiom – ‘bigger fish to fry’? How very human, but accurate.”

Astounded, Roche leaned in as well. “After everything we’ve been through and done to one another, you’re asking me for some kind of truce, you son of a bitch?”

“If ‘you leave us alone and we’ll leave you alone’ counts as a truce, then fine.” Iorveth punctuated his response by shoving Roche back by the shoulders. “I don’t like it either you fool, but apparently it has to be done because you’re a stubborn arsehole.”

The push surprised Roche for a moment, but he then retaliated by doing the same to the elf and saying, “Takes one to know one, knife-ear.”

Iorveth blinked at Roche. The two stared at each other for a time. One would think they were about to draw their blades, and finally have their fight to the death then and there. Then Iorveth slapped him, hard enough to turn Roche’s head to the side and send a drop of spittle flying. Roche returned the strike, leaving a red hand print on what unmarred face remained on the elf. They stared at each other again.

Roche snorted as his lips pursed to hold in a laugh. Iorveth let out a wheeze that turned into a low chortle.

“What the _fuck_ , dh’oine?”

“I haven’t the faintest.”

The tension in the room seemed to pop as they shared a dumb, juvenile laugh over whatever the hell just happened between them. As Iorveth wiped a stray tear from his eye, he noticed something that shocked the next chuckle in his throat.

“Roche, did that make you hard?”

“Huh?” Roche looked down at his crotch, which sported a half-hard erection pushing against his clothes. “Ah, shit…” He rubbed his face, now red from more than just the slap. “I, uh…” He scratched the back of his neck. Finding itches seemed to be preferrable to explaining himself. “I enjoy a little…rough-housing with my plowing.”

“I see,” said Iorveth, eyebrow arching. He grabbed Roche by his clothes and threw him back against the post in the centre of the room. Roche landed against it with an “oof” and a pulse of blood to his cock – the latter of which he inwardly cursed at himself for. By the time he was paying attention to the elf again, Iorveth had moved the bowls aside and was in the midst of removing his gloves.

“What are you doing?” asked Roche.

“Hm…call it consummating our truce.”

Roche’s eyes widened; Iorveth moved in closer. The elf reached into his own clothes to work himself to hardness.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Iorveth remarked.

“I’m just not sure what surprises me more: that I’m about to whip my dick out with you of all people, or that I’m not opposed to the idea.”

“Mm, well, times are strange like that, aren’t they?”

Roche began freeing his erection from his clothes. “I suppose they are.”

For a moment, they touched themselves, getting ready and comfortable. Their breathing came a little harder, slipping through parted lips. Iorveth soon had himself sufficiently hard, and revealed his cock in turn.

“Mine’s bigger,” claimed Roche, the crack jumping off of his tongue thoughtlessly.

Iorveth looked up to glare at Roche proper before his eyes returned to their dicks. “Oh please, it’s a bit thicker, certainly, but mine is longer.”

“Not by much.”

“But it is. And I have a nicer head.”

“Wh- that’s not a thing.”

“It is now.”

Roche let out an exasperated sigh. Better to stick to what they were doing instead of turning it into a proper fight over miniscule differences in dick proportions. He slowed down, then stopped, as he took a moment to look to the elf’s hard-on. Roche reached out to take the place of Iorveth’s own hand. Catching on, Iorveth did the same.

They jerked each other, panting and wetting the lengths with precum. Iorveth reached his free hand up to Roche’s neck. He squeezed the blood vessels, causing Roche to gasp as his air was partially cut off. The human moaned raggedly as best as he could. A thick pulse ran through his dick. Roche muttered “fuck” under his breath; Iorveth grinned, at least for the second before he felt his climax approaching. It was hard not to enjoy, _really_ enjoy, having this moment of power over his rival.

“C-coming soon, dh’oi - …Roche.”

Roche’s lips formed the shape of “Me, too,” though the way her jerked his hips into Iorveth’s hand gave that away.

When the elf saw Roche’s body stiffen in the last second before release, he let go of Roche’s neck and cupped his hand to catch the human’s cum. The sudden rush of returning oxygen made Roche arch against the post. He groaned through pursed lips, not wanting the whole damn Scoia’tael camp to hear him cry out wantonly. Spurts of warm cum coated Iorveth’s hands. Iorveth burned the image of Roche like this into memory – of having been so undone by his hated, non-human rival. Overwhelmed, Roche’s hand was forced to pause mid-stroke on Iorveth’s cock, though the elf didn’t mind. It simply meant he made Roche come _that_ hard – hard enough to be memorable, surely. Roche wouldn’t be able to think of his rival without remembering just how good his rival was to him.

Roche came down from the high of his climax to find Iorveth smirking at him. The elf kept eye contact as he licked most of Roche’s cum from his hand. Blinking, the Blue Stripes commander forced his hand to keep going; he may have come first, but he wasn’t going to give Iorveth the pleasure of calling him a selfish lover. If they could even use the term “lover” – whatever it was they were to be called, Roche intended to give, too.

Even if it meant giving to Iorveth.

Licking his lips, Roche pushed Iorveth’s arms aside and leaned over, taking the elf’s cock into his mouth. He couldn’t tell if the gasp that came from Iorveth was from pleasure or surprise, or both, though he took pride in making it happen all the same. He moved over the length of the elf’s cock, rubbing his tongue at the tender spot just under the head. It seemed that area was something that human and elf cocks had in common. Already brought close to the brink beforehand, Iorveth soon tensed and groaned something in elvish before coming at last. Roche swallowed each spurt of seed as it came. He could hear the elf panting from his thrown-back head, also trying not to give themselves away.

Once Iorveth was spent, Roche rose and leaned against the post. They both sat for at time, catching their breath and trying to comprehend what they had just done with each other. With _Iorveth_ – with _Roche_ – of all people.

There wasn’t any regret to be found, however. That seemed the most surprising part of all.

With one last deep breath, Iorveth nudged Roche’s soup bowl closer before picking up his own. “Eat up. You’ll be taken back to where I found you at first light.” He gulped down what was left of his meal.

Roche nodded and did the same. He felt safe enough to notice that it didn’t taste half bad, despite having gone cool. The elf slipped his gloves back on. Iorveth suddenly grabbed Roche by the chin and turned him to look.

The elf grinned and remarked, “Watch yourself, Vernon Roche. My units will leave yours be, but if I should meet you again, I’ll likely slap you. Va fail.”

Tapping Roche’s cheek in a couple of mock-slaps, Iorveth got up and left the hut, empty bowls in hand. He heard Roche release a held breath just as he stepped out, and grinned at the reaction. He didn’t survive this long by making stupid decisions, and this one, it seemed, was a good one.


End file.
